


Coming In Hot

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Exactly What It Says on the Tin, F/F, M/M, Multi, Other, everyone gets a piece of the Blackwatch Retribution pilot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-11
Packaged: 2019-04-21 15:32:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14287986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: After the Retribution mission, there's a whole lot of steam to blow off. She's here to provide.





	Coming In Hot

**Author's Note:**

> Why would I let something like a character not having a name stop this from happening?
> 
> Update: Michael Chu was kind enough to respond to my tweet and tell me that her canon name is Fio! I'll probably leave the fic as is, mostly because I'm entertained.
> 
> Also black ice is different on ships than roads, don't @ me.

It wasn't the first time a plan had gone wrong, but the tension in the airship was like black ice, hanging heavy enough to bring everyone down.

"This is Blackwatch One reporting in," the pilot said into her radio, keeping her eyes on the four sitting in the back, "ETA two hours and counting."

"Good copy, Blackwatch One." Static popped over the line, staccato. "Heard it got a little rough out there."

"Everyone's intact. That's what matters." Between her every word, the silence was deafening; something had to bend before it broke. "I'm going on auto. Blackwatch One out."

She killed the radio, setting the airship to automatic and prying her way out of the pilot seat. Every muscle ached; dodging Talon rockets and sniper fire was bad enough without listening to the anger sparking between the commander and McCree -- even if she was a long-time fan of Reyes' voice.

Her idle stretch in the arch between cockpit and the main compartment caught O'Deorain's eye. The doctor was folded into her own seat, the points of each knee and elbow kept a scarce inch from Shimada and McCree's leg, stretched across the way from his side. His black hat was pulled low, hiding his eyes from everyone, but the line of a grit jaw couldn't be concealed.

Reyes' eyes were locked on the shadows in the back, mouth moving in silence like he was practicing a conversation with someone else. When the pilot's boots creaked against the floor, he stilled, then turned to look at her, fixing his face into a smile.

"I hope you're not here to give us a head's up about turbulence, ace." It was a kind joke, offering a way out of the four-way clusterfuck she stood in front of. "Too many ships have fallen out of the sky tonight."

"Just checking on my passengers, Commander." O'Deorain huffed at that, the puff of breath stirring a few stray strands of red hair from beneath her beret. "I was, doc."

"You're checking on us because our boy and the man in charge got into a spat." Jabbing a clawed thumb towards Shimada, the doctor's grin was faint, half-feigned. "And he doesn't care either way."

Cybernetic eyes flickered her direction, the only acknowledgement that he was the subject of conversation. The pilot knew Shimada could speak, but his comments were always brief, balancing on the spectrum between apathetic and gallows humor. Being pieced back together from meat and scrap did that to a lot of people; she didn't take it personally.

"I'm not your  _ boy. _ " McCree hissed, his voice raspy from the cigar he sucked down before getting onboard; the commander wouldn't let him fill the back with smoke, even with state-of-the-art filters scrubbing the oxygen inside. "I'm twenty fucking nine."

"You're sour because Antonio has a stump where his head once was." The doctor countered, stretching out her legs until her knee bumped against McCree's. "But you can't play tough with me."

"I'm not..." He leaned forward, only to catch an arm across the chest from Reyes.

"Relax, Jesse. You're among friends." The commander's smile had a whetstone taken to it, sharper now as he looked the pilot's way. "And good company."

Beneath her helmet, she blushed. Sure, it was fraternizing to hook up after missions with a superior, but nine out of ten pilots wouldn't go near a Blackwatch run, and the Strike Commander kept his eyes averted as long as they got the job done. Blowing off steam was part of staying steady, and it looked like everyone here needed a foundation to grab onto.

"Less than two hours and we're home free." She meant it as an invitation as much as a warning; too much screwing around and they'd run out of time.

"I'm not in the mood," McCree declared, but when he looked at her, there was a hunger to have his mind elsewhere. "But I'd like to be."

After triple-checking that her helmet mic was muted, the pilot took it off, hanging the strap on the back over an equipment hook. "Any other volunteers?"

"You're always a delight. I certainly won't say no." Black claws flicked up the latches flanking O'Deorain's shoulders, freeing her from the heavy tank strapped to her back.

A nest of tubes disconnected with a pneumatic hiss, and Shimada raised an eyebrow as one of them whipped by his arm, missing by centimeters. His eyes fell on the pilot again, and after a moment of silent consideration, he said, "I'll watch. Mostly."

_ Mostly  _ left a host of possibilities on the table, and she smiled to herself before looking to Reyes for approval. The commander reached to unclip his ammo belt, then tossed it onto an empty seat; that was all the signal anyone needed to continue.

McCree had asked first, so she sank down to her knees in front of him, wedged between black spurs and armored calves. A nuzzle against the inside of one thigh urged him on, one set of calloused fingers slipping into her hair, the other finding the switch on the golden skull buckle guarding the zipper underneath.

The pilot drew it down swiftly enough, parting silver teeth, but he wasn't hard quite yet. She palmed McCree through the front of his black briefs, framing his shaft between her fingers. When his hand pushed against the back of her head, the pilot leaned forward, kissing the barrier of dark fabric between her mouth and his cock.

He groaned. It was a subtle sound, more chest than throat, but the encouragement lead her to start stroking along McCree's length, chasing friction and heat until he was aching enough to slip free. With a bit more work, his cock was hard in the open air, and the pilot kissed the tip, flicking her tongue across the sensitive divot there. 

Sweat and a heavier musk filled her senses, but they were all post-mission; showers were for after, when come, spit, and whatever passed for lube had to be washed down the drain. A loose grip and an easy rhythm brought McCree the rest of the way, his hips rolling forward to guide the first few inches into the pilot's mouth. No ice there, just willing heat.

Someone moved behind her. She was distracted with the task at hand, but the scratch of nails against the nape of her neck meant the culprit was O'Deorain. Clever fingers found where her flight suit came undone, stripping it down and out of the way so there was more bare skin to go around. The pilot glanced upward; McCree's eyes were visible now, dark with need, and another tug on her hair urged her down another inch, then two, and she had to try not to gag.

A breath through her nose and the tension eased enough for her to tease her tongue along the underside of his cock, head bobbing as she found a rhythm. Reyes grunted in approval next to McCree, and the low rumble sent a shiver down the pilot's spine.

"See, Jesse. We're all getting along here." One of the commander's arms slipped around McCree's shoulders, then gave them a firm squeeze. "You going to let the rest of us have fun too?"

"Yeah, I'm not greedy." His voice hitched in the middle of the last syllable, hips jerking to draw the pilot's head back in until her nose brushed against faint dark curls. She swallowed around him, and McCree gasped a curse. "The doc's already getting started anyway."

"She gave her permission." O'Deorain noted with a chuckle, drawing five abrasive lines down the pilot's back. Once the flightsuit was trapped around the top of her boots, the doctor's warmer hand tugged her sports bra up and out of the way, then cupped both breasts in a whimper-inducing mix of temperatures.

"So of course you had to be distractin'," McCree's hand tightened in her hair, the head of his cock pressing against the back of the pilot's throat and holding her there just long enough for them to both make noise.

Even with a cold start, he was worked up and it didn't take much more for McCree to come, spending into her mouth between gasps. She swallowed him down to the last drop; no mess for some poor private to scrub off the floors later. His grip relaxed immediately, shifting to offer a kind stroke against the pilot's cheek when she pulled back to catch her breath. A moment of weakness, but right now they all wanted to be weak.

"Pretty thing. You indulge him so." The doctor's voice rang above her head; O'Deorain was standing again, and the pilot had to tilt her neck to its limit to look up into mismatched eyes. "Come sit in my lap a while."

That was an invitation that was impossible to resist, and she glad to have some relief from the metal stress of the floor biting into her knees. With McCree's taste still on the back of her tongue, the pilot climbed on top of thighs bound in armor, flightsuit tangled around both ankles like a set of manacles. O'Deorain welcomed her, strong enough to pull the pilot's weight up and against her own body.

She wouldn't undress; the doctor never did.

"Let's see what we have here." Both eyes, chilling blue and piercing red, centered on her mouth. "Say  _ ah,  _ girl."

"Ah-!" Two fingers pushed between the pilot's lips, capturing her tongue and stopping the sound in place. The nails there were clipped, blunt, but somehow no less threatening.

There was more movement behind her, a measured sound of boots on steel. With soles but without spurs, it had to be the commander. O'Deorain's smile was so close she could count every one of the doctor's teeth. "I was wondering if you would join us, Gabriel."

His zipper came down in a whisper of metal, and the pilot moaned around the fingers still held deep in her mouth. "I wouldn't pass up a chance with our favorite jock here."

Broad hands found her hips, teasing around the band of black underwear until Reyes pulled them out of the way. When he spread her open, baring slick folds, the pilot shivered, bracing her knees against O'Deorain's legs. The doctor must have felt it, because a pleased smile turned predatory, and clawed fingertips meandered down the line of the her stomach, scratching a path down to curls damp with arousal.

"Genji, do you happen to have--" Reyes began, and the pilot heard a rare snort of amusement from Shimada before the crinkle of foil met her ears. "Thanks."

"I don't even have pockets, so you're lucky I remembered where your stash is." Shimada leaned back against his seat in the corner of her vision, watching intently but not making a move of his own.

"Very lucky." It didn't take long for Reyes to roll the condom on, and she was grateful; feeling the commander's weight and heat against the curve of her ass was tempting enough before his cock came into the mix. "Don't rough her up too much, Moira."

A pair of talons aligned against either side of the pilot's clit, building pressure between the pads of each fingertip, barely avoiding the points just below. "No promises."

Reyes guided the head of his cock to her entrance and pushed in, the exact same moment O'Deorain bullied a third finger into her mouth. Pleasure collided in two waves at once through the pilot's body, meeting at the coil of tension burning its way up her spine. In a shred of cogent thought, she knew at least one of them must have done that on purpose; she wasn't the first person to be between the doctor and the commander, and likely wouldn't be the last.

Even dripping wet, it took a moment to let Reyes sink to the hilt. His cock was thick, filling her like O'Deorain was filling her mouth, and with a constant torment of strokes around the swell of her clit, the pilot couldn't do much more than moan, grasping at the narrow shoulders of the woman in front of her. Then the commander started to rock his hips, thrusting faster as the energy between them started to bleed over, frenetic, demanding an outlet. It was a mercy that she qualified.

"Move with him," O'Deorain ordered, the colors of her eyes more vivid than ever. "And suck, pilot. After you serviced Jesse, I know you can."

She obeyed, closing her lips around the doctor's fingers the best she could, tongue working against its cage. A cry was muffled in her throat after a particularly hard thrust; Reyes wasn't cruel, but he was strong, a step beyond human. More than that, maybe, from the radio chatter she'd caught between the personal mics earlier, although in this moment, it didn't really matter.

They were all human enough.

Everything was slick friction, tightness and need spiraling into pleasure. It built and built, Reyes' hips flush against hers, O'Deorain's hands working wicked magic until the pilot's clit was swollen, her jaw sore in the best of ways. Orgasm hit at the point right before bliss became overstimulation, and she came between them, wordless yet loud.

The commander didn't last long after, and even though the condom, there were pulses of heat with his orgasm, and a low rasp of relief left his lips. By the time Reyes recovered, O'Deorain's fingers finally stilled, sticky to the knuckles on both hands. When her hands pulled away, the pilot moaned at the loss, even if her mouth was in need of the break. Talking on the radio later would sure be something.

"Go see to Shimada's needs," the doctor murmured quietly, the edge of her mouth twitching in amusement when Reyes pulling out produced another moan. "We'll clean up."

She started to, only to get turned back toward the commander and kissed on the lips. It was nice, heady and sweet as a shore leave cocktail. "I won't leave you cold, ace. You know that."

The pilot did, and smiled against Reyes' mouth before climbing out of O'Deorain's lap. Shimada beckoned her with a look, and rather than moving to touch him, she sprawled out across an empty row of seats. He didn't like anyone being on top of him; the pressure on artificial legs roused up too many bad memories.

So she waited until Shimada moved over her, blood red eyes peering through his mask. Touch could be a complicated thing when some nerves were new and others constructed from scratch, but he was always gentle, careful. He explored the marks the other members of his team had left -- some on purpose, the rest passion's accident -- until one hand delved between her thighs. The other was flexed into a fist against his own leg, cables straining through steel knuckles.

The pilot didn't care which one Shimada used, but she knew he wanted to feel without having to filter the feedback. She gasped and twitched with every slow touch, still sensitive, vulnerable. He held that between his fingertips, working in deliberate circles until her breath quickened again, pleasure building in fits and starts.

Of course Shimada could have asked for more, taken her a different way, but if this was what he needed, she was more than happy to surrender it. He leaned close enough for their brows to touch, cool enough to shock her skin, and whispered low enough for the others not to hear.

"You're beautiful like this." Away from the battlefield, Shimada's voice had a lilt like music, a different cadence. "I'm glad that we have you."

"I'm glad you're having me too," the pilot whispered back, the words followed by a moan. "I'm close."

Release was a slow climb and a slow fall, bliss spreading through her body in waves until she finally had to put a hand over Shimada's wrist, stilling his hand. He relented, but she swore there was a smile behind the mask; it showed in his eyes.

"Aren't you two sweet?" McCree drawled from his side of the ship. He was zipped up again, but the line of his shoulders remained loose and limber.

"I would be sweet to you, but I don't think you have earned it." Dry humor laced Shimada's tone as he returned to his seat, after one stray touch along the pilot's thigh. "Impress me, and maybe later."

"You're not the one we have to impress." O'Deorain smelled like disinfectant now, chemical sharp. "That would be Jack."

"Let me worry about the Strike Commander," Reyes interjected, "it was my call. I stand by it."

A moment of dropping their guards, and everything went back to business. After pulling her flight suit into place, the pilot wandered back to the cockpit, waiting for the veil of silence to fall across the airship again.

It did soon enough, and with a tap of her fingers, she took her mic off mute.

\--


End file.
